Outlawed
by Chu10
Summary: Ever wanted to feel the winds of the the old Civil War howlin', ride a horse with spurs a-clingin', and stand in a showdown in the Old Wild West? Here at Abstergo Entertainment, we got it all for you – viewing all of this in the comfort of your own office. Interested parties may apply. Remember, history is our playground.
1. Prologue: Once Upon a Time in the West

_**Chu10**_**: Hello ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, of the Assassin's Creed fandom!**

**My partner and I are not new to the franchise but we are in fact, new to the story-writing here – nevertheless we hope to bring you the best we can give. I know, many of us have been suggesting our own locations for the next AC to move on to, and here what we can offer is the old Wild West, with all its legendary sharpshooters, tumbleweed – all your kid fantasies brought to life in a brutal way like what Ubisoft did with AC:IV. We do hope you enjoy, and we hope we deliver on this first one out!**

**Remember: History Is Our Playground.**

_**JJZ-109**_**: How's it going motherfuckers. I'm the bad cop in this duo. Here we bring you a popular time period not frequently visited in games, and the story where Assassins and Outlaws cross paths, United and Confederate States clash in America's bloodiest war, and shocks are around every corner. And yeah, this can be a touchy time period (Civil War I mean). So harden the fuck up beforehand. This is fiction, meant to entertain. This is where Wrist-blades and revolvers meet. This is the Wild West.**

**Cheers: **_**Chu10**_**,**_** JJZ-109**_

* * *

**PROLOGUE: ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST**

_**Rural California Train Lines, United States of America.**_

_**1853. **_

_**Pre-Abolition **_

Another day in hell. Working tirelessly on railroad lines in fear. Not just of collapsing, dehydration, or the harsh conditions…but of the people. Slave owners and construction foremen patrolled like wolves on their territory, watching lazily as every single worker or slave hammered away at the iron, ready to whip or beat anyone that so much as stepped a millimeter out of line. Then there was the ever-present threat of Natives attacking…

It was also psychological hell. Whatever reason they left their homelands, it was for a better life, in the 'Land of Opportunity'. And it was anything but. They had just escaped into a worse hell under the hot desert sun. Their efforts to escape Asia were all in vain.

Under the blazing sun the slave master stood, his moustache crinkling up with a frown, one hand resting on the hilt of a whip, and the other holding up an accusing finger and pointing it at the Chinese woman who stood in front of him.

"You there! You dare accuse me? Of bein' too harsh to yer daughter over here? Huh?" His accent rang out, true and Southern. He was a small man, but his bite was worse than his bark would ever be. His whip crack commanded authority like no other down on the railway tracks.

"Sir, sir, I never will do that!" The woman protested, her Asian accent strong. "No please, I didn't accuse you!"

The slave master laughed, a cruel sound from his lips. "Hah, pleadin' fer mercy wit' me now ain't ya?"

"No! Please sir!"

The slave master let his grip off the young woman that he was holding by the collar and stepped heavily over to the older Chinese lady, cracking his whip on the ground. The sound was enough to make the other railway workers turn their heads – but none of them dared look for more than a second, and they quickly averted their eyes, thankful that it was not them.

The first whiplash fell, hitting the older woman on her shoulder and making her scream out in pain. Skin was torn, and anyone could see that the fabric on the area had been ripped apart by the force of that whip. And just nearby her daughter yelled out at the same time as her mother.

"No! She's done nothing wrong…Hit me instead…Please!"

But her pleas fell on deaf ears as the slave master brought down another lash of agony.

"Please! Stop!" She cried helplessly, looking as her mother cried out in pain. What were the others doing? Weren't they all friends? Where were her friends in times of need?

"Help her, someone, please!"

_Why was no-one helping?_

"That's my mother! Please! You got to help her!" She yelled, her voice cracking. But no one, no one made a move. It was as if the whipping was happening in another realm altogether, a realm no one dared enter. The third lash came down, and it was almost unbearable for the young woman who cried out in frustration and anguish along with her mother's cry of pain and suffering.

"STOP! HIT ME! PLEASE!" She yelled, desperate to get the slave master to turn his attention away, to look anywhere else – even to whip her, maybe – just as long as he stopped hurting the person she loved the most in the world; and the only thing she had. But when the man did not turn, or even show any sign that he acknowledged her – her words turned into action. Running up and nearly tackling the man, she gripped his right arm hard, and reached out to pull the whip away from him. The man was shocked. He did not have time to react before the whip was pulled straight out of his hands. What was this? A slave fighting back? Was she - _snatching_ his whip away?

"Give that back before I hurt yer straight in the face with this thing!" He threatened, bringing his hand to a hilt of a large knife in his belt.

"No!" The young woman shouted back, defiant now that she had his weapon in her hand. He couldn't hurt her mother now…nor could he hurt her if he tried.

"Why, you little piece of shit," he said as he drew out his Bowie knife. The blade gleamed maliciously, the stained parts reflecting the sun. "Why don't ya put that down and we can talk, eh?"

"If you promise never to hurt my mother again I will give it back."

"Hah! Lord in Heaven, did anyone hear this child speak? Never hurt your mother again? Hahahaha! Joke of the day, ladies and gentlemen!" He mocked, swivelling his knife in one hand. "I'll show ya, girl, I'll show you how a knife works when I cut up your mother soooo badly, she'll be – "

_CRACK!_ The whip came down hard, catching the slave master by surprise. But surprise was the least of his worries, because as every other railway worker nearby turned to look with wide eyes, the slave master had a huge, bleeding cut on the side of his lip where the whip had caught him.

"What the fu - " the man reached up to his own cheek, not daring to touch it. "What the hell is this?"

"Don't. Touch. My. Mother."

"I still got the rights to mess her up if I want, ya 'lil bitch!" He yelled.

CRACK! The second whiplash came down harder than the first, catching the man across the chest and tearing skin and fabric. There were audible gasps from the other workers, either from shock – or maybe even from secret joy that this young girl was whipping the hell out of that man that terrorized them and ran them ragged for so long.

"Fuckin' hell – "

_CRACK!_ The man screamed out in the same pain as the older Chinese woman did. _Crack! Crack! Crack!_ The whip came flying across several more times, with the young woman starting to enjoy every bit of it even more.

Eyes wild, hair out of place, the young woman glared sharply at the man on the ground, who has been reduced to a person curling up in a foetal position, his hands shielding the back of his head.

"Go away! Get out of my sight!" She shouted at him, her voice gaining a new tone. Was it…command?

Whimpering in pain, the slave master immediately stood to his shaky feet, backpedalling in shock with a horror etched on his face. His power was gone. The young Chinese worker scowled at him…before dropping the whip in fear. What had she done? In protecting her mother she might have just guaranteed death for the both of them…It was a rush of blood she regretted. She trembled in a mixture of rage and fear as armed railroad foremen started running to the scene. She took a feeble step back, and started to feel a tear swell in her eye. They drew their pistols and stumbled to a stop before her.

"GET DOWN ON THE GROUND GIRL!" The young slave complied fearfully. "Boy you in a heap o' shit now girl…What the hell's the matter with you? How the hell we meant to get a new line done when we got bitches like you slowin' things down. We ain't got any use for slaves that make work instead of do it…" The foreman said and pressed his revolver against her head.

'"WAIT, STOP!" This voice was American, and made the foremen spin around on the spot. A man in an expensive looking white formal suit trudged forward, panting. As soon as he reached the trio he quickly drew his chequebook, and raised the beaked white bowler hat from his eyes.

"I am terribly sorry for this, gentlemen. In order to spare this girl's life…I am willing to purchase her from you. How much will it be?" He asked and drew a pen to start writing out the numbers. The foremen's eyes narrowed.

"Would you first mind explaining who the hell you are?" The foreman pointed his revolver at him now.

"Oh, my apologies. Tom Horn…At your service." He said, shaking the barrel of the gun with his hand as if the foreman had extended it as a handshake.

"Now…how much will it be gentlemen?" He said and looked up at them.

Horn was a middle-aged man, with grey starting to appear in his thick beard and hair. His white suit gleamed in the sunlight, contrasting against the bright red tie.

"She's not for sale. Now go back to wherever you came from, mister." The foreman snarled.

"What? Of course she's for sale…You were about to shoot her." Horn pointed out.

"She's our property, and we can do with our property whatever we so desire." The foreman replied…

"Well I am willing to offer you as much as –" Horn was interrupted, as the man raised the revolver against him in a threatening manner.

"My friend…Are you getting carried away here or are you actually pointing that gun at me with lethal intentions?" Horn asked coolly, and the girl flinched.

"Last chance…Now beat it." The foreman said, and pulled the hammer back. _Cla-chik. _

"Oh…So this is how you want to play it?" Horn said, eyeing the two foremen down. "Fine by me."

He then suddenly burst into action, and before the girl even knew what happened, a blade was penetrating the first foreman's throat, sending blood squirting all down his previously immaculate white sleeves. The girl traced the blade down…It was coming from the underside of his wrist, out his sleeve, with his hand bent backwards as far as it could go. _SHING! _Then up his other arm flew, and the blade extended out. He plunged it into the chest of the second foreman before he even had time to blink.

Slowly, he released them both and let them both clatter to the ground, dead. Still with his fingers spread and wrist-blades drawn, he turned to the girl. The blades zipped back up his sleeves when their eyes met. He approached her calmly and extended a hand.

"Are you alright?" He asked, but she was too fearful to move.

"It's okay…You can trust me. I won't hurt you or your mother." With that she carefully took his hand and got to her feet, eyeing his wrist the whole time in fear that weapon may pop out again. As she stood up, she noticed a strange symbol stitched onto his hat, like an English 'A' almost…Without the line running through the middle.

"What is your name, m'dear?" He asked in a friendly tone.

"Eh…Zhu." The girl replied, still in a submissive manner.

"Zhu…?" Horn said and motioned for her to continue.

"Zhu Ling Jiao." She muttered in response.

"Well you know my name, courtesy of my discussion with your two ex-handlers…Who won't be requiring your services any longer." Horn said and dropped a cheque onto the foremen's dead bodies.

"And I must congratulate you, for someone so young and in a position like yours to take a stand against such brutal oppression…It ain't common. So I say this to you: Well done. Well done indeed." Horn put a hand on her shoulder.

Zhu couldn't help but feel confused. There was just so much happening at once. It sounded like she was being freed, her superiors were just killed before her, and the man that did it somehow seemed like a savior. It just seemed to unreal, out of her painful repetitive life consisting of working herself to near death on railroads daily. She blinked to check it wasn't a dream.

"I suggest you get your mother. We ride at noon." Horn said casually and spun around on his heels.

"Wha- to where?" The young Zhu asked after him.

"Somewhere safe." Horn replied.

"A-are you sure this is allowed?" Zhu asked cautiously.

"Yes I'm sure. Look Zhu…There's one thing that the people I work with say, and one thing that you'll learn in time. It is that Nothing is true, and _everything _is permitted."

* * *

_**(Western Strum) **_

_**Texas, Confederate States of America**_

_**1861**_

_**The American Civil War.**_

_*WHACK* _A glancing blow struck across his face, sending his head snapping sideways viciously and droplets of spit and blood spraying from his mouth. He didn't even wait for the throbbing to ease; casually turning his head back around to the man who punched him an irritatingly unprovoked expression.

The room was dimly lit by a few candles providing a simmering orange glow, and its only inhabitants were the four of them. The three Confederate soldiers and himself. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing that the punch hurt - and in point of fact it didn't too much. He'd been shot, whipped and beat many a time in his life, and this seemed so feeble. The soldiers were just encouraging him to shut up even longer, in the name of his larger-than-life ego. He'll say something when he'd damn well exposed how feeble they were.

"Now you plan on sayin' somethin', boy?" The Confederate Captain sneered at him.

The man just let out a breathy chuckle, not paying him any form of seriousness.

"Whatcha wanna know fella?" The man rasped in an amused tone. The Captain growled again.

"You think this is a fuckin' game, ya nigga-lovin' yankee?" The man stopped chuckling as he watched the soldier to his right draw his rifle bayonet.

At the Captain's nod, he cut the binding ropes on his captive's hands free. The man's stomach leapt...The road out of the war and back to freedom may be quicker than he thought. _Damn idiots, they don't read the posters do they? _ He still couldn't help but feel slightly worried. As his hands were freed, he casually brought them up (without even rubbing the searing marks beforehand) and straightened the dark blue coat draped over his bare upper body. The two riflemen instantly reacted to the insolence and forced his hands down onto the table.

"Let's see who's laughin' now...Lose his finger boys!" The Captain commanded and suddenly the man's attitude changed. _Now _he was threatened.

"No..." He rasped and tried to yank backwards. But it was too late; they had him. He turned his head in the opposite direction sharply and squeezed his eyes tight as he felt the searing blade cut through his flesh.

"FUCK! AAAAHH!" He hissed through his teeth as the blade kept on sawing its way through. He'd had his fair share of pain in his time, but this was more knowing what was happening than the actual pain. With a nauseating snap of a bone, it was over – and fuck, it hurt. But with the extreme pain came a numbness that numbed almost all the fingers on his right hand. It felt strange – something was missing where it should be, but the remnant hurt just as much as the part that was gone. He felt the grips on his wrist begin to ease, and instinctively he turned back and opened his eyes. His right ring finger was gone. In its place was a bloodied stump of flesh, soaking the wooden table before him in his own crimson blood. The look was a little sickening.

"Now ain't that a shame...Looks like you'll never be married, son." The Captain sneered.

The man suddenly felt the amusement and smart-assery be reborn inside him.

"Really? You cut my right hand one ya stupid genius. Left is for the girls..." The man spat back.

"...And my Johnson's for your mother." The man continued with a wicked grin.

The Confederate Captain's eye twitched in rage, and he viciously drew his own knife.

"Why you Union son of a -" He started off menacingly. He was too stupid to realize his own mistake however.

Cut off ring finger or not, the man's hands were free...

Ignoring the blood and throbbing, he plunged his maimed right hand into the Captain's belt holster.

Cut off ring finger or not, the man still had the quickest draw in the West...

In one lightning fast motion he yanked out the M1851 revolver and pressed it against his chest.

_BANG! _A blast of scarlet liquid splashed out backwards, and soon the Captain's form followed it. The gunshot flicked a mental switch in his mind, the one that brought him into the alert, vicious and fighting one where everything moved in slow motion, one minor action at a time. The one years of living out in the lawlessness of the Frontier had induced.

As soon as his mind registered the Captain had been shot, he yanked the hammer back on the revolver and withdrew his body from in-between the two flanking soldiers. _BANG! _The first soldier instinctively fired his musket, and hit his comrade opposite him. The man watched his expression transform into one of horror and grinned slightly, before holding the pistol up to him. _BANG! _

The interrogation room shootout was over already.

Blowing the smoke off the stolen revolver, the man stood up and casually paced over the creaking wooden door. Crouching down he began searching the body of the captain, and eventually came across the stack of cash messily rolled up in his bloodied coat pocket.

"Thanks for that partner." He said casually and exited the room.

On cue, lawmen were running to the scene with rifles in hand, all trying to squeeze through the tiny makeshift jail door. The man snapped his arm up and leveled his stolen pistol _'BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG! _He blasted the remaining four rounds away, slamming his left hand down on the hammer after each shot. The storm of lead sent splashes of blood and flesh bursting out of the lawmen's forms, spraying the doorframe red and creating an eerie red mist behind them as they fell.

The man tossed the spent revolver away...And casually approached the locked cabinet on the other side of the small wooden jail office. He tore the doors off their hinges. He couldn't be bothered searching for keys. Inside was all the confiscated possessions of past prisoners, clothes, weapons...the lot. The man scratched his chin...Before removing his old blue Union Army coat. _Enough of that shit. _He was going to be free now again...

The man was no regular soldier. He was a gunslinger. A bandit. A criminal. A criminal who's only pardon was to serve in the Civil War...And now he'd escaped that. The Confederate soldiers were daft enough to be seduced by that Reward on the posters and defy orders to collect it. Their mistake. And it bewildered the man even more that they'd managed to read the name and reward, but not the warnings? _Morons. _

After a while of rifling through the confiscated goods...He'd eventually come across his possessions. A brown leather belt, with a silver buckle, and twin leather holsters. In each holster was a new Remington 1858 revolver. His most prized possessions. He didn't bother looking for the money; the reward he'd stolen from the Confederate Captain was enough. And lastly...but most importantly, was his hat. A cowboy like him was nothing without it.

Then he began picking out some clothes. He was back to his old ways now; the US Army clothes would no longer be required.

Meanwhile, out in the deserted main strip of the dusty Texas town, the Sheriff walked forward with spurs a-clinging, and shotgun held over his shoulder. Flanking him were his two deputies. No one comes into his town and starts creating this sort of trouble and racket. It was blatantly obvious what had happened. He could see the lawmen dead in the bloodstained doorway, and just about the whole town heard the gunshots. Those soldiers never looked too bright, and he felt irritated the Marshall had let them handle their captive. If three trained and enlisted soldiers couldn't contain him, then he sure as hell would.

"You in there! In the name of the law... Get out here with your hands up! You're outnumbered and outgunned. Let's make this nice and simple huh?" He called out, and readied his shotgun in case.

"_Very well then. Here I come sir!" _The man called back.

Then just as the first rays of orange sunlight started to pour over the desert horizon and down the street...the man stepped out of the jail doors, with the warmth on his back.

Spurs clinking against the ground, and with his brown hat lowered over his eyes he stepped out and forward with the sun spilling over his shoulders. The Sheriff gulped a little at the sight of him, and tightened his grip on the shotgun for reassurance. He wore tall brown boots, faded blue jeans, a light brown sleeveless utility shirt and a leather holster with two intimidating looking guns inside them. His right hand was completely bandaged up and bloodied, while the left held onto a sheet of paper.

As soon as the man stopped in the middle of the dirt road, he turned to face his three opponents. The gentle wind waved through what hair of his was visible, and his long shadow extended from his feet all the way to those of the Sheriff due to the sunrise.

For a moment there was silence.

Then the man casually raised his left hand, and released the sheet of paper. The wind carried it fluttering over to the other side of the showdown where the shadow ended. It fluttered to a stop right at the Sheriff's feet. The Sheriff looked down at it and read, and felt his heart sink.

Looking back up now the man was smiling evilly, with both hands now floating above his thighs.

The sheet read:

_WILLIAM BRONSON_

_WANTED:_

_**DEAD OR ALIVE**_

* * *

_2014_

_The small group of Abstergo employees crowded around the monitor burst into applause. That was just plain awesome. _

"_Great work man!" One exclaimed and slapped his colleague on the back. "That footage was quality…this what you're going to present to the boss?" He continued._

"_Yeah…All raw footage as well." The employee replied._

"_Wow…I honestly can't believe our luck." The first said and paced behind his friend in the office chair. _

"_Well you know… two times the donors, two times the footage baby…" _

"_We're going to make a fortune out of this."_

* * *

**How was that to start us off? This has been Chu10 and JJZ-109, and as always...Have a nice day.**


	2. Chapter 1: Nothin's True

_**Chu10**_**: Hello to you random stranger, or good friend, or alien - and thank you for dropping by – and continuing into the second chapter of this story. Collectively you're all called readers, so hello there all of you!**

**What you can expect further from here is that we would be putting our focus on two areas in this 1860s – both the Wild West, where outlaws make the land theirs, and the Civil War, where all hell is ablaze.**

**By the way, if you're curious on how 'Zhu' is correctly pronounced, you can come ask me. I'm friendly – and a Chinese speaker myself. :)**

_**JJZ-109:**_** How's it goin' fellas. As you can see, this is the official start of the story, with the prologue just giving yas a sample taste. And yes Abstergo Entertainment make a return. What do they want in the 1860s? You'll have to find out. Also in this chapter you'll see our first **_**major**_** historical character make an appearance. There'll be a few more of these, Famous people from the West, and both Union AND Confederates. If you don't agree with one of those character's stances, well done. Good for you. You have an opinion. And this is fiction, so no getting butt rustled over history. We don't share these people's opinions. Anyway, get ready people, your Assassins are in town.**

**And lastly, to Emily (guest reviewer), Emerald dreamer96 and Haradion - a nice thank you and a tip of the hat from the both of us. :)**

_**Cheers: **__**Chu10**__**,**__** JJZ-109**_

* * *

**CHAPTER 1: NOTHIN'S TRUE**

**Abstergo**_** Entertainment Industries**_

_**Montreal, Canada. 2014.**_

"_William Bronson. Wanted: _Dead or Alive."

As the last pieces of raw footage flashed across the screen and it faded back into the Abstergo Entertainment Interface, a man and a womanstared at the screen for a while in silence – the man wondering what the other might say about the new footage, and the lady taking it all in.

"Well…" started the man, obviously hiding his excitement, "What do you think about all this?"

"_Mon dieu_," said the lady, rubbing her temple with a highly amused expression. "That was very intense!"

"Good, good!" The man stood up, typing an input into his laptop. They were both in a spacious office with a full height glass sliding door, which was now mainly shaded with blinds to block out the natural daylight that was abundant at the height the office was situated. "Now, we lighten up the shades…"

As he spoke, he reached for another button, letting just a little bit of sunlight which filtered through the blinds, enough to keep the room dim, but enough to shed light onto everything.

"And now.." He began, pausing dramatically. "- I present to you, the _data_. Mmhmm Miss Lemay, the _good _data – don't get bored just yet!"

The presentation came up on a sleek interface on the wall mounted screen, showing two prominent colours, gray on the left and red to the right, each representing one historical figure that was shown in the raw Animus footage.

"So Miss Lemay –"

"Oh, Melanie would do _monsieur_." She said with a smile.

"Aha, Miss Melanie, ladies first, _non_?" The man said, pointing his finger to the screen's left. Just as he did, the gray colour turned a bright white, and the red segment faded into the back. On the white there was the profile of a young woman, almost a girl:

_Name: Zhu Ling Jiao  
Date of Birth: 15/4/1835  
Place of Birth: Shanghai, China  
Date of Death: Unknown, 1865  
Place of Death: Rural Texas  
Height: 5'3_

"As you can see," The man spoke, "We found somebody prominent in the era of the American Frontier. She may be born in China – but she was heavily involved in the events of the 1860s Civil War in America. You know, how the Chinese migrated to America to work on railroads? A small number yes, but they were still there. Not all of them stayed put as you can see…"

More screen caps of the footage popped up to accompany the text, and the man smiled. "A beauty isn't she? We would have to delve more into research for this one though. We know that she was involved a lot – but we don't know _how _she was involved yet."

Melanie looked slightly dubious. "She came to America as a _slave_…are you sure people would like that?"

"Take it out in the final cut of the game, maybe?" The man laughs. "I don't know, this one's your men's jobs!"

"Ha-ha Herbert, very funny now," Melanie jokes. "How about the other one? That rough looking man on the right?"

"Now, this one – his donor was almost as much of a pain in the ass as his ancestor is." Herbert pushed his black framed glasses up his nose.

"Firstly he was a nightmare to track down…We weren't even sure if that cowboy existed. He was the product of Old Wives' tales, really. We feared that he could be fiction all together. But eventually after following all these unreliable stories…We found an alleged descendant. A stubborn one too. He was fidgety, uncooperative – and he put up a lot of trouble." Herbert ran a hand over his head, remembering the stress.

"That and the memories we got were rare. Distorted, even – this man here, he must have been a drinker, or he may have memories that he himself was trying to suppress. You know how it is with memories – they are never always consistent. Either way, here we go…"

With the touch of another button, the white parts that showed the young woman faded, and the red segment lit up to the front:

_Name: William Elliot Bronson  
Date of Birth: 11/10/1837  
Place of Birth: San Francisco, California  
Date of Death: 21/1/1902  
Place of Death: Dodge City, Kansas  
Height: 6'0_

"This man here – legendary…one of your typical gunslinging folk heroes…or villains, depending on how you look at it. You can see from his footage – he was an Outlaw in a Union Army uniform at one stage, hah! Not bad, I should say. We need more research into this as well, if you'd like to. Two donors, two lines of memories, and it is easier to cross reference, _non_?"

"_Bien_, it is good footage!" Just as she spoke, the phone on the desk started ringing, and both looked towards it for a second, before looking back to each other.

"Nice job Herbert. _Pardon_, I need to take this call…" She smiled, reaching for the phone and waving Herbert to the door. He shrugged and nodded, stepping out of the door and closing it lightly behind him.

"Yes…_bonjour _this is Melanie Lemay at Abstergo Entertainment – how may I help you?" The muffled sound of Melanie's voice could be heard through the door.

"Oh…oh! It's you. Yes…yes, so I've heard. Oh is that so?" Her voice lowered a little, and her eyebrow raised sharply.

"You mean…down in there? Signs of Those That Came Befo - I see, I see…ahh, _merci, _I understand…yes, good day to you too."

"Herbert? Please come in." She called, and he opened the door.

"Yes Miss Melanie?"

"We are given the green light to go." She said enthusiastically. "Bring on more of the footage!"

* * *

_**American Territories, 1853**_

Across the warm desert sunset two horses trod forward: black silhouettes moving insignificantly against a blood orange sky and falling sun. Bottles and equipment clanked against each other, as hooves gently plodded and tapped against the ground. The first horse carried that same unbothered figure, the wealthy looking suited man with the beaked bowler hat. The second horse hauled two women, a middle-aged, frail looking worker with wrinkles on her face and cheap tunics, and in front of her a much younger woman with sleek long black hair, and the same ragged old Chinese conical hat. For miles they had ridden, and for miles they would continue. For the two women on the trailing horse, the further they went into this hell the better. The further they were into this one, the further they were away from the worse one they'd left behind.

Zhu Ling Jiao was never sure about just what the hell she was doing. She was following a killer who she'd seen in action with her own eyes across miles and miles she didn't know. Anyone could have told her that was hilariously stupid. But every time that thought surfaced, that scene from the railroad kept replaying itself. _The slave-master...The way she stood up...Defied. Then the shock of murder. _There was no going back. Wherever this 'Tom Horn' was taking her and her mother, it was the safest bet. And there was something about her mother when she saw him...As soon as her mother had seen him extend his hand...Zhu saw a glint in her eyes that she'd never seen before. It looked like _hope. _

Horn's words from that fateful day kept echoing in Zhu's mind. _'Everything is permitted'. _Growing up a Railroad slave she didn't feel like troubling her mind thinking what that meant. The people he worked for say that, apparently. Is that where she was going? To freedom? To something better?

The road ahead was long, and the trio pushed forward. California to Arizona. Arizona to New Mexico. New Mexico to Texas. From Texas to Tennessee. From Tennessee to Virginia. They'd crossed from the far West to the other side of the country.

With her mind in such a tired state it was almost delirious, Zhu watched the scenery around her change from dry prairies to deep green forest. There was a change in the air – it was much more cooling as half the sunlight was shielded out by the many trees that towered over them. She'd never seen it before, and it kept her awake.

Along with this new awe came an eerie feeling of insecurity. For some reason, she felt as if eyes were watching her from all around. She checked both her leader and her mother, both of whom seemed completely calm. She especially wondered about her mother, who seemed completely uninterested in the new stunning scenery. Was this what it was like back in China? She tiredly kept her eyes front, when suddenly something caught her eye. A normal person would never have seen it, but for some reason a sixth sense dragged her eyes towards a patch of bushes, to see a hooded head slyly staring them down. All of a sudden her feeling of awe vanished, to be replaced by fear.

She started to see them everywhere. Crouched up on a huge redwood branch in trees, upon cliffs overlooking them, from behind other various pieces of scenery they hid, just watching them trot along casually. Their eyes concealed by their hoods or headwear, but their heads followed. And Zhu could _feel _their gaze.

"Your instincts do you good, girl. Don't mind them. They're just cautious to outsiders." Horn broke the eerie silence and called back.

"You sure they never just seen a Chinese on a horse before?" Zhu replied.

"Don't be ridiculous...Our culture stretches across the globe. America...China...England. Everywhere. Difference of culture or status means nothing in the brotherhood." Horn explained, not looking back at her.

"What are you?" Zhu asked.

"Assassins." Horn broke it to her; refraining from the riddles and poetic answers he'd given them the whole way. _Assassins? _Zhu thought.

"You…are hit-men?" Accompanying her words was a look of shock. This wasn't what she expected the whole way, given that the man had spoken in such a way that made him trustworthy. He had even saved them – but what now? Were the people he killed only targets? They'd come so far…just to be hit-men? She felt the worry rise up to an uncomfortable level inside her.

"No girl, not like that," Horn explained, his voice serious, this time turning to look her in the eyes. For a moment, his casual mannerism turned into something more serious. "We come from an ancient line of order. We are Assassins – we work in the dark, to serve the light."

"But I don't understand…" She said worriedly. "You brought us here to do the works of hit-men?"

"No," Horn shook his head, "We never harm an innocent life, give or take. Hit-men kill for the sake of a reward – we take a life, not expecting anything in return, only for the better of other lives."

"I still don't understand…"

"You will soon girl, you will. Be patient."

Zhu looked to her mother – but she merely smiled at her.

"Ma…" she started. Her mother knew her best, and before Zhu even voiced her worries, she ran a hand through her daughter's hair.

"It is going to be alright, Jiao," she said in their native tongue, a weary smile on her face. "These are not bad people. Believe me, I know…"

"How are you not scared of these people?" Zhu replied in like. "They seem a little like _huai ren_ – like bad people…"

"They are not, Jiao, they are not. Do not worry…"

Zhu sighed. If it did have to come down to anything bad, they would at least have each other. But Zhu thought about it – if Horn had wanted to kill or harm them, he would have done so many moons ago. There must be a reason why they were still alive – either it was all a very elaborate plan, which was ridiculous, considering the amount of effort – or Horn was in fact, a good guy like what her mother had said. But no matter what came their way, she'd be ready to protect herself and her mother. They had each other – and they've been through work on the railway tracks. No hell must be worse than that…

After what seemed like a short time – may have been short, but time was hard to keep track of while in the forest - they approached a grand wooden gate in the deep forest. It was comprised completely of stiff redwood logs, with that same symbol on Horn's hat symmetrically carved into the center. The gates groaned open, and revealed a whole community living in the cover of the vegetation. People walked along the buildings casually, as if it was another reasonably populated town or county, but it was different. They were dressed differently, most with hoods (either off or on) and uniforms with several prevailing colors. On the flag pole in the center flew the banner, but not as Zhu remembered it. In the ring of stars that symbol appeared again.

As they rode further into this 'community', more and more heads turned to stare at them. Zhu looked down, trying to avoid the glances and exposure. Horn simply greeted them with a warm smile and a tip of his white hat.

"HORN!" A loud, accented voice called out.

Horn held up a hand and motioned for Zhu to stop the horse. Both animals trotted to a stop with a snort.

"What the hell ye think ye doin' man?" The thick Irish-American voice scolded.

A well-built Assassin with hood lowered and small top hat strolled out into the dirt road before them.

"Bringing our new family members to a temporary place of residence, so that they may rest in preparation for an orientation." Horn said cleverly, not losing his smile.

The man seemed to be getting only angrier.

"Nay you fool, I mean why the hell you bringin' outsiders to the home? Have you lost your bloody mind? And especially..._slaves._" The man seemed to sneer a little at the last word, and with that, Horn's smile vanished.

Zhu felt her head drop. She knew it. Nobody cared for her kind here. He dismounted his horse, and casually paced over the Irish sounding Assassin.

"Well since you seem so thoroughly educated in our creed, let me just point out something you may be forgetting. Nowhere in our laws do we mention any form of discrimination according to nationality, wealth, or status..." Horn explained in a casual, almost insulting tone towards the man, who recoiled a little.

"Don't recite the laws back to me, Horn. You've broken a simple rule and – " Horn cut him off.

"Broken a rule? Tell me O'Reilly…Where is this rule written down or made official in any way? It more comes down to common sense about whom we let in here." Horn told him, a stern expression etched onto his face.

"Common sense ain't common…err…you're missing the point man. It's a threat to the order to let outsiders in here!" The man known as 'O'Reilly' snarled.

"Well...the only one here that is seemingly threatened is you." Horn chuckled, shrugging. O'Reilly's eye twitched in anger and he slowly began to step forward towards him.

"And considering our guests are both harmless women, one very young…I would suggest it being more to do with…xenophobia." Horn finished the sentence off rudely. "Unless you…A trained Assassin…are afraid of two girls?" Horn began laughing casually.

O'Reilly scowled and marched over Horn viciously. He grabbed his shirt and pulled him close, retracting a fist as he did so. Horn didn't even seem fazed, not flinching and retaining his usual smile.

"I'll give you somethin' to fookin' smile about Thomas you -" O'Reilly growled between clenched teeth, but suddenly trailed off.

He looked down to see Horn has extended a wrist-blade and was holding it threatendingly close to his stomach. And still smiling casually. "You weren't thinking of striking a fellow brother of the order were you?" Horn asked in a low monotone.

O'Reilly hissed back at him in response, not lowering his fist.

"_What seems to be the problem gentlemen?" _

A deep and familiar southern voice broke out behind the confrontation. Zhu suddenly snapped out of the depressed daze she'd been in since O'Reilly showed up and looked forward. At the sound of the voice both Horn and O'Reilly instantly released each other, with Horn's blade zipping back up his sleeve and O'Reilly quickly straightening the creases on his suit that he'd made, as well as his own hat.

Zhu scanned the shadows carefully for a moment, before out he came. A tall man stepped out into the limited sunlight provided by the trees, with a dark blue US Army uniform and expensive looking sword at his hip. Each step he took seemed to echo throughout the community. Zhu all of a sudden began to feel a little intimidated again.

The man's face, beard and grey hair told years of wisdom and experience, while his gentle but stern expression commanded respect. As did the way Horn and O'Reilly reacted to his sudden presence.

"Nothing…_Master._" Horn replied quickly. "Just a little misunderstanding." With this added on O'Reilly shot him a glare.

"Okay then…O'Reilly you're dismissed." The old man said, and with a nod, O'Reilly instantly complied, storming off in disappointment.

"Now…Thomas, since I'm assuming this was your doing bringing these ladies in here, and since I'm assuming it was for a reason, would you mind introducing me?" The old man said, studying Zhu and her mother up on the horse.

Zhu could feel his powerful gaze sweeping over her, and avoided eye contact.

"Yes…Of course. Ladies, this is the Grand Master of our people, my personal mentor, and Colonel of the United States Army, _Robert E. Lee."_

* * *

**There you go people. Introduction to the American Brotherhood...With a famous Grand Master :D Don't forget to leave us a review.**

**This has been Chu10 and JJZ-109, and as always...Have a nice day.**


End file.
